


In Toto Corde

by SquishyCool



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Angst and Tragedy, Animal Sacrifice, Blood Magic, Character Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Mild Sexual Content, Necromancy, Older Man/Younger Woman, Rewrite, Rituals, Supernatural Elements, True Love, Two Shot, Witch Hunters, Witchcraft, Witches, bethyl, originally a one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 07:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquishyCool/pseuds/SquishyCool
Summary: in toto corde; Latin: "whole heart"Despite a million reasons not to, Beth and Daryl fell in love. Then he made the ultimate sacrifice in order to keep all of his promises.Now, facing unimaginable consequences at the hands of witch hunters, Beth has no choice but to use her powers to bring Daryl back from the dead."He won't be the same..."[a rewrite ofThe Whole Heart]
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	In Toto Corde

**Author's Note:**

> First written and posted in 2014. Published to AO3 in 2017.  
> Rewritten & republished in 2021.  
> (if you never read the original, don't bother. this version is way better.)
> 
> This was originally for a prompt on Tumblr by the user [piperme](http://piperme.tumblr.com):
> 
> _witch au / beth tries to bring daryl back from the dead  
>  -he won't be the same  
> the blood had pooled thickly, turning the soil black  
> she worked faster, but the voice kept repeating  
> he won't be the same  
> he won't be the same  
> he won't be the same_
> 
> The prompt included an image, created by piperme, that I also used as inspiration for this fic.

**In Toto Corde**

_His kisses were like steel against her skin. Metal pressed to soft satin._

_He trailed his lips across her collarbone, up the expanse of her neck. Paused right below her scalp. She felt the tip of his tongue dart out to briefly taste her. Then his hot breath ghosted over her earlobe._

_She shivered beneath his touch. Rough calluses and chewed-down fingernails left goosebumps up and down her arms._

_When they made love, it was always in the pale moonlight._

_Curtains billowing in the soft breeze. Sheets wrapped around sweaty bodies. No other sounds besides stifled moans and skin slapping against skin. Heavy breathing echoing off the walls. Quiet confessions of commitment, and breathy promises that seemed to linger in the air around them like static electricity._

_He kissed a teasingly soft trail along her ear. She wrapped her arms tighter around his warm body. He seemed to encompass her entirely._

_Then his mouth was hovering over the shell of her ear and whispering into it. His gravelly rough voice sent chills up and down her spine._

_"You taste like all the lives I never lived."_

* * *

Tears rolled down her cheeks, streaking her mascara even further to leave dark trails down her face. The black dress billowed around her legs, though she wasn’t even sure if it was actually _her_ body that she was inhabiting. She wasn’t sure if the wind was real or just a brief reminder of the senses she’d lost.

She felt so numb.

She stared down at the grave before her. And gradually, a pain she could not identify was wrapping its long, bony fingers around her heart. It was reaching inside of her chest and gripping her very soul with an unforgiving squeeze. She couldn’t escape its grasp.

This was nothing like when she’d lost her mother. It was _different_. Painful in a way that she’d never realized pain could be. So unjustifiable. So senseless. So… _wrong_. On so many different levels.

For the first time in a long time, she felt completely and utterly _alone_.

Because he was gone. He was really _gone_.

And she was standing six feet above him.

This wasn't right. He didn't _belong_ down there, eternally still inside a box beneath pounds and pounds of dirt.

He belonged under the sunlight, out in the open, where the sweat would glisten on his skin almost like diamonds, and his hair would ruffle in the breeze like it was made of silk. Where he would smell like grass and heat. Where he would beam proudly and toss his crossbow over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

Where he would tell her, in his low voice that almost always sounded like a growl, that he loved her.

That he'd protect her. _Die_ for her.

_“I’d do jus’ about anything fer you, girl.”_

He’d said that once. And she hadn’t forgotten it since.

"You got a lotta nerve comin' here."

Beth spun around at the sound of the scratchy voice, startled. Her gaze met with an older man.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her. And the glint in his grayish blue eyes shook her to the core.

They were so _familiar_.

"I'm sorry, I just had to visit him one last time," she said quietly.

"It's _your_ fault he's dead," Merle said flatly. "He died… fer _yer_ bitch ass."

She shook her head, more tears pooling in her eyes. "No, I didn't want him to, I tried to _stop_ him—"

Merle held up a hand to silence her, stepping closer. "I don't wanna _hear_ it, blondie. I _know_ about you. I know what you are… We _all_ do."

She pursed her lips, frozen in fear. Waiting for him to go on. Hoping he wouldn’t. But knowing he would.

He sucked his teeth and looked her up and down.

"I know what you can _do_."

Her heart skipped and dropped. She read the expression on his face all too easily; heard his unspoken words before he could even open his mouth.

No. _No._ He couldn’t possibly ask this of her. She could never say yes. She could never oblige to such a horrific demand. He didn't understand.

He didn’t understand _at all_. He had no goddamn idea.

He didn't understand just _exactly_ what she was and where she was from. He didn't fully understand what she could do… and _couldn't_ do. Everything that could be risked. He couldn’t _fathom_ the consequences. Not like she could.

Yet all the same, he demanded it of her.

"Bring him back."

"I—I can't," she choked out. "I'm sorry, Merle. I wish I could, but I _can't_."

Anger flared in his eyes. It struck her like lightning to recognize the look on his face—to feel the burst of electricity when their gazes locked. As if she were staring into a window from the past. A foggy, iced-over window that was scalding hot to the touch.

She'd never thought they looked much like brothers. But now she saw it.

"Yes, you _can_! And you _WILL_!” He took a threatening step forward, uncrossing his arms and balling his hands into fists. His eyes were narrowed, glaring at her maliciously. “Or else I'll _find_ those hunters, and I'll tell 'em _exactly_ where ya are," he growled.

She opened her mouth to make an argument—to try and explain herself. But before she could utter another word, he was turning and walking away, anger quickening his pace.

She turned back to the grave.

The words she'd wanted to say to Merle escaped from her throat in a terse whisper to the wind—a warning about dangerous spells that she clearly remembered from her childhood.

"He won't be the same…"

* * *

_"You need to stay back. They're gonna come for me an’ my family, and I don't want you gettin' hurt."_

_She watched the disapproval form on his face, an argument already built up in his head. She knew he was going to fight her tooth-and-nail on this, but it was for his own good._

_She couldn't stand to lose him. Couldn’t so much as risk it. Not now._

_Not ever._

_"You_ **_need_ ** _me," he said lowly. "Ya ain't a very good fighter, and… I couldn't live with myself if somethin' happened ta you. I'll help ya. Lemme_ **_protect_ ** _you."_

_This made her furious. The lightbulbs in the kitchen ceiling flickered with her anger, but he sat unaffected. Staring at her. Unfazed._

_She was a_ **_witch_** _. She didn't_ **_need_ ** _his help. She didn't need his protection. She'd made it this long without him—she could protect_ **_herself_** _. She wasn't a damsel in distress that needed some prince to come save her._

 _"No, I_ **_don’t_ ** _need you! That's what you don't_ **_get_** _," she argued, her voice rising. "I don't need protecting, and I don't need_ **_saving_** _! You're just gonna get yerself_ **_hurt_** _, and that'll be on me. I can't have that, Daryl—I can't have_ **_your_ ** _blood on_ **_my_ ** _hands.”_

_He narrowed those dark blue eyes at her. And she couldn't help but melt a little under his gaze. The lights stopped flickering._

_She almost regretted arguing. But deep down, she knew it had to be done. She had to stand up for herself. She had to draw the line_ **_somewhere_** _._

_No matter how painful it might be._

_He stood up, shoving the chair back from beneath him in anger. It slid across linoleum and hit the wall. The sound echoed off the paneling and faded before he spoke._

_His tone was defiant and indifferent at the same time; it was resentment blanketing worry._

_"Blood on yer hands is the_ **_least_ ** _of yer worries."_

* * *

Her hands shook as she turned the pages of the huge, old book. Dust flew up from every page, and the paper was heavy and yellowed with age.

Her eyes scanned the dark calligraphy—foreign languages combined with fading artwork. Horrifying portrayals of demons reaching their long, claw-like hands up to possess what was theirs. Mysterious sketches of unnamed creatures.

She knew what she was looking for, but there were _thousands_ of pages.

When she finally found it, she struggled to read through the tears that had sprung up.

It was exactly what she had expected: Horrible. Immoral. Grotesque. Bloody.

_Dangerous._

She took out her notebook and swiped the sleeve of her shirt across her eyes before translating the words from the page into her own handwriting on clean, white paper. She tried to steady herself, but her hands were still shaking, making her writing sloppy and uneven.

Lists. Preparations. Rituals. Spells. Chants. It was a page she never thought she'd be writing in English.

It didn’t look right in another language. It didn't _belong_.

Just like Daryl didn’t belong six feet underground. 

When she'd finished, she glanced over the two-page sprawl she'd just sketched out. She could barely make out her own handwriting, but she read aloud to herself as her eyes skimmed over the scrawled translations and rough sketches. Her lips formed the words with a ghostly breath, but she didn’t dare speak them all aloud in sequence.

"Pentagram formation… living sacrifice… non-rodent animal… around the heart… the blood… markings… the whole heart… gravesite… midnight… full moon… blood… wings to the kingdom… release him… and the witch… waits…"

She let out a deep, shaky breath. Then her eyes drifted down to read the final line.

It was a warning from the very bottom of the spellbook page that she’d struggled to roughly translate. Written in blood red ink.

Yet all the same, she’d immediately recognized it.

She whispered aloud to herself, on a wavering breath:

"He won't be the same…"

* * *

_"I love you," he whispered against her skin. "I love you… I love you. I love you I love you I love you."_

_He repeated it—chanted it—like a mantra. But a different emotion leaked out with each reiteration._

_Need. Desperation. Joy. Anguish. Relief. Fear. Dedication. Commitment._

_Unconditional_ **_love_** _._

_Her nails dug into his sun-tanned skin. He was like a shadow against her pale figure. The smell of his musky sweat filled her nostrils. A whimper escaped her throat._

_"I_ **_need_ ** _you, Daryl," she whispered into the darkness._

_His hair brushed across her cheek before his dry lips met hers. Like sand against cotton._

_He swallowed the rest of her words, silencing her moans._

_"Don't ever leave me," his deep voice breathed hot against her open mouth. "Don't ever give up on me."_

_She wrapped her small arms tighter around his torso, his bulking frame enveloping her as she pressed her forehead against his, soaking in the warmth of his body, dark hair falling against golden locks._

_"Never," she sighed against his skin._

_“Ya promise?”_

_“I promise.”_

_She felt his hot mouth against her cheek, planting the softest kiss._

_“I ain’t never gave so much’a myself to somebody…”_

_“I know. Me either.”_

_"You got my whole heart, girl," he whispered._

_Then he pressed his lips to hers once more._

* * *

It had only been a week since her visit to Daryl's grave when his angry brother showed up in her yard. She didn't hear him approach and wasn't sure how he'd slipped past the gates unseen, but he stood a short distance away from her now.

He was wearing the same dirtied clothes she'd seen him in last time. His hands were in his pockets as he watched her expectantly, scrutinizing her from beneath graying eyebrows. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes had grown deeper, the bags of exhaustion and grief sinking lower into his cheeks. He was showing his age more and more every day.

She wondered if Daryl had been the life force for his youth. Maybe he was what had kept Merle young all these years.

"Can I help you?" She asked when she realized he wasn't going to speak first.

He smirked. But not in satisfaction. “I made some new friends."

Her stomach twisted and her face went pale, and she forced herself to stare back with defiance as she waited for him to go on.

"They know you. They know what _I_ know.” His voice grew more menacing with each word. "And I know somethin' they wish they did… I got somethin' they could really _use_."

A cold sweat broke out across her skin. Panic was settling in, making her heart race.

She struggled to remain calm. To talk some sense into Daryl’s grief-stricken brother. "Merle, it’s not that _simple_. I—“

He held up a hand to silence her. "You just do whatcha do best, li’l girl. It wasn't my brother's _time_. He don't _belong_ in that damn casket."

She swallowed hard past the knot that had formed in her throat.

"An' unless he shows up at my door with a beatin' heart… well, we wouldn't want him to've died in _vain_ now, would we?"

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, readying words to defend herself.

But when she opened them again, Merle was gone.

* * *

_Her face was soaked with tears. They were running down her chin, tracking down her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt. Her breaths came short and gasped. Sobs were racking her body. She was hugging her knees tightly to her chest and rocking herself back and forth on the bed, trying to calm down, when he entered the room._

_"Beth! I got here as soon as—"_

_"She's_ **_dead_** _," she choked out before he could continue._

_He stopped. His face fell and he sat down next to her awkwardly, at a loss for words._

_“Mama… she's dead… th-they_ **_got_ ** _her…"_

 _"I'm sorry," he said quietly. “I’m so… fucking sorry.” He placed a hand on her arm and she buried her face away, more sobs escaping. "But we gotta_ **_do_ ** _somethin'… We gotta get ya safe. It could've been_ **_you_** _."_

 _She swatted his hand away in a rage, anger replacing the sadness almost immediately as she raised her head and glared at him through watery, blue eyes. "I_ **_know_ ** _it could've been me! You don't think I_ **_know_ ** _that?! It also could've been Maggie, or-or Daddy, or Shawn—it could've been_ **_anyone_ ** _we know! Anyone we associate with!”_

_The lamp on her bedside table flickered and brightened until it was glowing hot._

_“They won't stop till we're all_ **_DEAD_** _!"_

_It suddenly burst with a loud ‘pop!’ Tiny shards of lightbulb flew out across the room._

_He winced. His lips pursed. Yet he sat still, seemingly unfazed._

_He was holding back his words for once. She could tell. He was choosing to calm himself first, instead of lashing back on impulse._

_Her anger rapidly subsided as she added, "It could've been_ **_you_** _, too.”_

_She was sickly satisfied with how quiet he'd gotten. With the abrupt darkness of the bedroom._

_There was a brief, tense moment of silence._

_"It ain't_ **_gonna_ ** _be me," he mumbled. "I wanna help ya, Beth. I don't want you to be the next… I can't_ **_lose_ ** _you."_

 _She sniffled, looking away from him in shame. She was embarrassed that he was being so caring and tentative when she was being so hostile and defensive. "I can't risk it… I can't have you riskin' your_ **_life_ ** _for me. It's not right, Daryl."_

_He chewed his lower lip like he wanted to say something._

_She met his eyes again before adding, "I can't lose you either…"_

_His gaze softened and he scooted closer to her, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his embrace. "What can I do? Just tell me."_

_The tears came back and she let them fall as she leaned into his chest. He rested his head on top of hers._

_She took a shaky breath, then spoke against his shirt, "I just need you. I need you right now. Always…_ **_Please_** _."_

_“Ya got me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”_

_He held her tight against his body and let her cry, and he didn’t speak another word._

_She let herself get lost in the comforting embrace of his arms, the sturdy build of his frame that made her feel so safe. The scent of his sweat and leather vest, and the beating of his heart in her ear._

_Until, eventually, the tears stopped forming._

* * *

She was running. Her blonde hair flew behind her. Her feet hit the grass with soft thuds, and her heavy breathing was lost in the wind that wrapped around her body and rushed past her ears.

It was dark, the moon and stars hidden behind ominous clouds that shifted in the sky like waves of sand. The cemetery looked like a tiny city, rising and falling with landmarks and headstones. The grass led into the darkness of the thick woods that surrounded the graves and she ran towards the tree line, towards that familiar marker embedded in freshly-dug dirt and newly-planted grass.

She was exhausted and breathless by the time she stopped. She threw herself to her knees inches in front of the stone. Her fingers gripped the cold earth beneath her, nails digging into dirt, rocks, and grass.

The tears didn't come anymore. She felt like she'd cried herself dry. It was just sobs, racking her body, making her throat raspy and her lungs deprived. Her hair fell around her face, veiling it in the almost non-existent moonlight.

She gasped for breath in between choked words—desperate pleas to someone who could no longer hear her.

"I need you," she sobbed, digging her nails harder into the earth. "I need you, I need you, _I need you_. So _bad_ right now."

A few more soft cries echoed out into the night, fading away into the woods.

"I'm so sorry," she wept. Her knees hurt from the rocks beneath them, but she pushed herself harder into the spot she was kneeling, looking for any kind of purchase to fight the feeling that she might float off into the breeze around her.

“It should've been me… It should've been _me_!"

She was yelling now. At no one. At the darkness. At the horrible, impending finality of death itself. She was picturing the blood and the tears and the pained expression on his face.

No.

She was picturing his blue eyes glistening in the sunlight, and the shadows dancing across his scruffy face in the midst of the night. She was picturing his lips against hers, and the settling sound of his rough voice in her ear. Against her mouth. On her skin.

"I just… _need_ you," she whimpered. Her voice was heavy with defeat.

She quieted her pleas to the Other Side as she gazed at the engraved stone before her.

 **_Daryl Dixon_ ** **_  
_** **_beloved brother & friend_ **

She shut her eyes tightly, trying to forget that all she had left of him now was his name and birthday on an old stone.

He was so much more than that. She had to think of his _face_ , his voice, his callused hands, and the scars that decorated his skin like tiny mile markers. Not the letters that comprised his name.

She saw his shy smile. His soft hair that she would always sweep away from his eyes when their bodies were pressed tightly together beneath sheets. The vest she'd grown used to seeing slung over the chair in her room. The way those wings on the back would almost shine in the sun, like a beacon of hope.

Another sob rose and shook her. She choked it back, opening her eyes again, and leaned down until she was whispering to the worms.

"Please, Daryl… Come _back_ to me…"

* * *

_"I know you love him, Bethy, but he can't know."_

_Maggie was standing in front of her, feet firmly planted, arms crossed over her chest, staring at Beth with a scolding gaze. She spoke softly but assertively._

_Beth was still intimidated by her to this day. She feared being reprimanded by her big sister. It was even worse now without her mother around to interfere. Without her mother around to be at the top of the family hierarchy._

_"If he finds out, or if you tell him… we're_ **_done_ ** _for. You don't know_ **_who_ ** _he's wrapped up with. He could have friends who are hunters. He might not even_ **_know_ ** _they’re hunters," she went on. "They'll do_ **_anything_ ** _to get to us, Beth."_

 _"He would_ **_never_ ** _do that," Beth snapped. "I love him, and he loves me, too… more than you know. He would_ **_die_ ** _before he'd put me in danger."_

_Maggie's face hardened. She pursed her lips and stood up straighter. "You already told him, didn't you?"_

_Beth didn't answer, continuing to stare back defiantly._

**_"_ _Didn't you?!_ _"_ **

_Maggie's sudden harsh tone shook Beth and she hesitantly nodded, whispering out a fearful explanation, "I_ **_had_ ** _to. He was gonna figure it out anyway…"_

 _Maggie's eyes blazed. "This isn't just_ **_about_ ** _you anymore, Beth! This is about_ **_us_** _! It's about everyone we've ever been close to. You're not the only one at_ **_risk_ ** _here.”_

_Beth looked down, her sister's words sinking in like tiny needles._

_"You've put him in_ **_danger_** _," Maggie continued, lowering her voice to a stern—but harsh—whisper. "Why do you think I left Glenn? Because I_ **_wanted_ ** _to?_ **_No_** _. I love that man more than life_ **_itself_** _—and_ **_because_ ** _of that, I separated myself from him. ‘Cause I can't risk_ **_losin'_ ** _him. Not now. Not ever._ **_That's_ ** _love, Beth. Puttin' someone's life before your own. Throwin' your own happiness away to ensure their safety. If you knew_ **_anything_ ** _about it, you'd do the same_ **_damn_ ** _thing."_

_Beth remained silent. Her bottom lip quivered, but she couldn't form a response. She knew her sister was right._

_"You say he'd_ **_die_ ** _for you?"_

_She nodded, still not looking up to meet Maggie's eyes._

_"Well that’s exactly what he’s gonna end up doin’.”_

* * *

She was in the small wooden shed out back, fingers absent-mindedly tracing through dust and cobwebs as her eyes slowly scanned over all the tools that hung on the walls. She perked up when she spotted what she'd been searching for: the shovel. It hung alone in the corner, surrounded by hedge clippers and spades.

She was reaching up to grasp the splintery wooden handle when a voice at the open door startled her.

"Beth."

She retracted her hand and spun around to find Maggie in the doorway. Her eyes flicked from Beth to the shovel on the wall behind her before narrowing in disapproval and settling back on the startled blonde. 

"I know what you're doin'," Maggie muttered lowly.

"What?" Beth tried to act innocent, but she knew it was pointless. Maggie could always see right through her. She was always a step ahead.

"One of the old spellbooks wasn't where it usually is…” Maggie looked her up and down with a scrutinizing gaze. “It was moved, not a speck'a dust on it… I know what spell you were lookin' up. And I _know_ what you're tryin’ to do now."

Beth inhaled through her nose and straightened her back. "And…?"

Maggie blinked. Her brows knit together in a sort of confusion, nearing indignation. "Beth… you can't _do_ this. You _can't_."

Beth cleared her throat, fighting back tears that were threatening to pool in her eyes at the tone of her sister's voice. "I _have_ to, Maggie.”

Maggie stepped inside the shed and approached her younger sister until there was less than a foot of distance between them. “I know it hurts. Okay? I know you loved him. I _know_. But this isn’t an _option_ , this can’t be—”

“I don't have a _choice_!” Beth cried out.

Maggie reeled but remained calm. Her voice had a slight unease to it, like she was forcing herself to sound confident. "It doesn't _work_ like that. You _know_ this, Bethy.” That confidence rapidly disintegrated as she added, pleadingly, “Please… you _can't_. You're not _strong_ enough."

Beth didn't reply. She just stared at her sister blankly.

Maggie continued, the concern in her voice growing, "You could _die_ if you try to do this and you're not strong enough. Don’t you _realize_ that?”

Beth still didn’t reply. She simply looked at Maggie with an expression that she knew her sister could interpret.

“You just… you can't. It's not _right_ , Beth. Those books are untouched because those spells are so _dangerous_. We can't risk our lives even more than they already have been—than they already _are_."

Still no answer. No argument. Beth stood completely still and silent, even though she was at war on the inside.

She knew Maggie was right, but she wasn't doing this for herself anymore. And Maggie couldn't know that, because she'd try to interfere and get hurt. Or worse.

Beth had already risked so much. She couldn’t risk losing anyone else she loved. 

"I _need_ him, Maggie. I’d rather _die_ than go on livin’ without him.”

At those words, tears finally sprung up and pooled in her eyes. She realized she wasn't even lying when she said it.

A part of her was being selfish in her need for him, in her constant aching. Yet it was a pain so deep, so embedded within her soul, that she couldn’t bear to ignore it. To keep covering it up beneath layers of quiet mourning.

Maggie was taken aback by the grief that suddenly consumed her baby sister's face.

"He…” She paused, swallowing hard, and her voice lowered to barely more than a whisper. “He won't come _back_ the way he was. He could be… dangerous. _Different_. It won't _be_ the man you loved…"

“The man I _love_ ,” Beth corrected.

Maggie licked her lips. She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and met Beth’s eyes.

And just like that, her tone turned serious. Sharp. Stern.

Scathing.

"It's _selfish_ to bring back a dead man just because you can't find closure. It’s—it’s _cursed_.” 

Beth said nothing. She knew her sister was right, but there was no possible way for her to explain herself.

At the end of the day, Beth would rather have Maggie think her selfish. It was a lot better than having her dead.

The brunette shook her head, perplexed by the defiant silence. She stared at Beth. Her mouth moved as if to form more words, but none came out. She turned around and stormed out of the shed.

Beth swallowed down her unshed tears and forced herself to be strong. Then she turned back to the wall and took a deep breath.

And she reminded herself that she _had_ to do this. She had no other choice. Maggie couldn’t understand— _no one_ could understand.

They never would.

She slipped the shovel from its hook and left.

* * *

_They were cornered. Trapped. Surrounded. There was no escape._

_They had to run. It was their only choice._

_Trees flew past in a blur, her feet pounding over dirt and dead leaves. The only sounds in her ears were her racing heart, her pumping blood, her breathless gasps for air, and her long hair whipping behind her in the wind._

_And the heavy footsteps at her side._

_He was running beside her, a crossbow in his hand, grunting and gasping for breath as he raced through the woods. They were both covered in sweat and completely exhausted, but they kept running, weaving between trees, dodging undergrowth and rocks and rotting logs._

_Yet the voices kept up. Continued echoing around them, bouncing off the woods and following them._ **_Chasing_ ** _them. The angry yells of frustration. The sinister sounds of several bloodthirsty men hunting their prey._

_Witch hunters._

_There were a dozen of them. They were at all sides, their footsteps and voices coming from every which direction and filling the dark woods with menacing threats._

_Beth looked beside her and saw Daryl, running breathlessly. He glanced over and met her gaze. And she saw that his eyes were filled with something she’d never seen before._

**_Fear._ **

_She only glanced away from him for a moment. Just to search ahead for an escape route. Just to make sure they weren’t about to run head-on into a fallen log or a patch of undergrowth. Just to—just to—_

_A gunshot rang out._

_Within the exact same second, his voice joined the chorus of echoes around her._

**_"_ _BETH!_ _"_ **

_Before she could look over or realize what was happening, he shoved her to the ground in a tackled heap. She felt his large form embracing her—_ ** _encompassing_ ** _her—before she hit hard earth with a ‘whoompf!’_

_They tumbled together across the floor of the woods for a few seconds before coming to a stop. She instinctively disentangled her body from his and pulled herself up until she was on her hands and knees. She felt the throbbing pain of her scraped hands, arms, knees, and shins. But it meant nothing. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. She was still gasping for breath, her sides splitting._

_She looked around desperately. She couldn't make out any figures in the shadows. She had no idea where the hunters were or why Daryl had tackled her to the ground._

_Then she saw it._

_Her gaze drifted down and fell upon Daryl. He was lying in a heap, face-down, one arm underneath him and the other still gripping the crossbow at his side. She crawled over to kneel at his side and push him onto his back, freeing his trapped arm._

_And the air rapidly left her lungs._

_He looked up at her with tired, blue eyes. His mouth was slightly open. And he was…_ **_bleeding_** _._

_Thick, red blood seeped from a wound in his chest. He didn't move his hands to touch it or try to cover it. He seemed exhausted. At the end of his rope. His eyes were settled solely on her as he took in desperate, shallow breaths._

_“No, nononono—Daryl, please,_ **_no_** _,” she moaned._

_She put a hand beneath his head and brought him closer to her, cradling him. She pressed her other hand tightly against the wound in his chest. Blood soaked her fingers and covered her pale skin in wet crimson._

_It just kept leaking out. It wouldn’t stop. No matter how hard she pressed. No matter how hard she willed it to_ **_stop_** _._

_She didn’t need to turn him over to know the bullet had completely penetrated him. To know he was bleeding from his back as well. She could feel the warm liquid pooling around her knees. Soaking through her jeans and into the soil beneath them._

_And deep down, she knew this was it._

_The red was soaking his shirt and leaking onto his vest. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks._

_He gasped helplessly and, between stolen breaths, he choked out, "Told you… I'd… protect ya.”_

_The moonlight glistened off the crimson liquid that pooled atop his chest and spilled across her hand; it cast a glow across his paled face, illuminating the life that was slowly draining from his body._

_She shook her head, denying the entire situation. A million different thoughts were racing through her mind. If she had her tools with her, she could_ **_fix_ ** _this. She could mend him. He could live. He could_ **_survive_ ** _this. If she had the right spell, the right hex. If she had the right herbs, the right recipes. If she had the right person with her…_

 _But they were miles away from the farm. From everything she needed to_ **_save_ ** _him._

_His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he tried to breathe with increased desperation._

_"I… love you… Beth.” Blood was starting to seep from his mouth and pool at the corners of his lips. "You… need t’go."_

_She kept shaking her head. "No… no, Daryl,_ **_please_** _. Don't—don't do this. I can_ **_fix_ ** _this, I can fix_ **_you_** _!"_

_He was fighting to keep his eyes open now and she saw it. She recognized it. She shook him, urging him to stay with her._

_"Please—please,_ **_please_ ** _don't_ **_leave_ ** _me! Stay here! I need you! I_ **_need_ ** _you!" She cried, tears falling from her eyes as her voice rose in panic and anguish._

_He finally released his grip on the crossbow, letting it fall to rest in the dirt. He reached up weakly, struggling to raise his hand against the weight of his arm, and brushed his fingers across her cheek. She wrapped her blood-soaked hand over his and held it close to her face, tears rubbing off onto his knuckles as they poured from her eyes. The sobs shook her whole body._

_"I love you, Daryl," she wept, refusing to look away from his slowly dimming blue eyes. "I need you—I'm not givin' up on you, I’m not gonna_ **_leave_ ** _you…"_

_A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth upwards._

_He struggled to stay with her. He struggled to speak past the blood. His voice weakened to a choked whisper._

_And his final words rang in her ears, shadowed by the dying light in his soft eyes._

_"You got my whole heart, girl…"_

* * *

The moon was high and full. It shone bright across the grass and undergrowth, across the ground beneath her. It created skeletal shadows that reached out with bony fingers from around tree trunks.

The veil between worlds was palpably thin.

She worked quickly, arranging sticks and specific herbs into the familiar star-like symbol on the ground. Carefully cutting and snipping at ingredients with the shiny metal scissors held steady in her hand. Glancing back and forth from her project to her open notebook.

She was at the edge of the woods that surrounded the cemetery, mere feet away from Daryl’s grave. She wore a long, black cloak over a knee-length black dress and black boots, the cloak’s hood resting on her back. Her hair was let down in an unbrushed mess around her face.

Her shovel lay on the ground beside his tombstone. The pile of dirt and grass clods she’d left looked almost ominous. But not nearly as ominous as the giant hole she'd worked all day to dig.

She made a point not to look in its direction. The very sight of the hole and its depths made her nauseous. Unsure of herself. Unsure of her own _strength_.

Unsure of her own vindication.

But she had no choice. No one could understand.

She had _no choice_.

The moon was in full view above her, peeking through the wide gaps in the treetops and casting light upon her dark deeds. It glowed golden and red, turning the small clouds that surrounded it into puffy, crimson arteries. Her notebook lay open in front of her, the scrawled translation from the spellbook staring up at her. She had dozens of candles laid out before her and around the pentagram she'd just formed.

The light breeze in the night air made the tiny flames dance precariously. Shadows flickered across the old crossbow that rested in the soil at the top of the pentagram.

She recalled the steps in her mind as she stood and picked up a jar resting beside her, reaching her hand in and pulling out pinch after pinch of the dry dirt she'd collected from the grave. She scattered it along the edges of the pentagram until the jar was empty. Once it was done, she set the hollow glass back down and turned around.

She'd memorized the ritual by now, having studied it and planned it for the last two weeks. She silently checked off the tasks as she moved down the list.

_Living sacrifice… non-rodent animal._

She walked a few feet away, carefully unlocking the cage she had sitting in the dirt. A hiss came from inside, quickly followed by terrified whimpers. But she didn't hesitate. _Couldn’t_ hesitate. She opened the door and reached her hands in. She wrapped them around the fat, furry warmth of the raccoon and pulled it, scratching and kicking, from the depths of the cage. It tried to twist around and bite, but failed multiple times before finally giving up.

She held the animal out at a safe distance before her and stood in front of the symbol on the ground. Then she carefully set the writhing creature down in the center of the pentagram, though she did not loosen her hold as it tried to scurry away. She reached over with one hand and grabbed the dagger sitting next to her notebook, bringing it up in front of her.

Her eyes flicked across the shimmering blade, the way it reflected the moon and the flames of the candles. She caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the silver—wild blue eyes rimmed with red, tangled blonde hair falling around her ashen face—before she brought it down into the animal.

The raccoon screamed. Loudly. The sound was torture to her ears and almost brought tears to her eyes. But she couldn’t stop now.

_…around the heart._

She continued, digging the knife into its soft flesh. She made sure to cut around the heart, finally making an opening wide enough for her hand to reach inside and grasp the organ. And she extracted it, whole, from the still and silent body of the wild animal. She left the bleeding carcass in the center of the pentagram as she placed the heart on the ground right next to it, also occupying the center.

_…the blood… markings…_

She brought her fingers up and traced lines on her face with the warm, wet blood—one on each cheek facing inward, and one down the center of her forehead.

_…the whole heart._

"Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, _hear me_!" She spoke aloud now, with all the strength she could muster. The bloody lines were drying on her face while her sacrifice lay in the center of the pentagram she'd arranged with the necessary herbs and items, all topped by the crossbow like the North of a compass. "Accept my humble gratitude. In death, you give life. May you find the wings to the kingdom…"

She began rehearsing the spell, speaking the words with desperation and thirsty gratitude. She begged the higher powers to hear, to _accept_. Her scabbed palms were open out in front of her and she glared down at the blood covering them, the way it dripped down to the earth from her fingertips and seeped through the creases in her palms. The way it mixed with the scabbed remnants of her scrapes, and the dirt on her hands and under her nails, and turned a darker black.

_…blood._

She moved back to turn the carcass of the animal sacrifice over, still rehearsing the spell, letting all of the deep red liquid seep into the brown soil—letting it quench the thirst of whatever creature would answer her. She took the knife and made more wounds, more openings.

She was slaughtering the corpse now, mangling it to drain it of every ounce of thick, red liquid it had to offer. The heart lay on the ground, motionless, blood pooled and soaking into the earth around it.

"Accept my offering. Know my prayer," she continued, raising her shaky voice and trying to put as much strength into it as possible. “With all the power endowed of my soul, hear my command!”

She worked relentlessly to drain every drop of blood, to appease her unknown god. But there was a voice inside her head, replacing her own and reminding her of what she already knew. What she feared. What she denied to be true, yet knew was undeniable all the same.

A consequence most dreadful.

_He won't be the same._

The blood had pooled thickly, turning the soil black.

She worked faster, but the voice kept repeating.

_He won't be the same._

_He won't be the same._

**_He won't be the same._ **

"…release him…”

She completed the spell, dropping the blade to watch the last of the blood splatter around her.

“…release him… release him…”

And her voice rose high. Loud. Confident. It echoed off the trees and boomed out into the night.

“ _RELEASE! HIM!_ "

Then the witch waited.

Everything went silent. The candles blew out all at once. A cloud floated across the sky and covered the moon, veiling her in complete darkness. The breeze halted and the air was still.

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded in her ears. The voice was a soft echo in the back of her head now.

_He won't be the same._

A sound came from the direction of his grave. Her eyes shot over to look just as the moon began to peek out again, shedding the dimmest of lights on the shadowed hole she'd dug.

Something moved.

A human… A _person_.

Back turned towards her, on the edge of the hole, crawling up and out. Slowly standing up.

Her heart dropped.

Those familiar wings caught the moonlight.

Her breath hitched in her chest.

He turned around.

She saw blood.

_He won't be the same._

**the end…?**

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has always been one of my proudest pieces, and as time went by and comments gradually trickled in, I started getting more and more motivated to do a rewrite. I feel that my writing has improved quite a bit in the last 7 years, and I've always been a little emotionally attached to this particular one-shot, so I wanted to make the story feel more real and emotional. I've never rewritten any of my fics before, but I felt that this one deserved a rewrite.  
> I also got a few comments asking about a possible sequel. Originally, I never intended to follow up. I left the ending as it was for a reason. But then I got to reading those comments, thinking about this fic, thinking about where it could go. I got a few ideas, and the next thing you know... I was rewriting this and starting a sequel.
> 
> So yes, there will be more. It will be a follow-up one-shot. Probably twice the length of this one, maybe more. I have a pretty solid plot planned out, but I still don't have an ending. So if you have any ideas, suggestions, things you'd like to see, whatever, please let me know! I'm looking for inspiration wherever I can get it.
> 
> If you're curious to get an idea of what the sequel might entail, I created a [Pinterest board](https://pin.it/t1RJnKt) and a [(very short) Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0pAfaMRaD8vsewaCLbVTny?si=edeaf9900a6f48d8).
> 
> Also, please let me know what you thought of this. I am always open to constructive criticism. :)


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